


Minutes and Moments

by Laurelgand



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Angst, Because I love healthy polyamory, Coverin' my bases because I'm not sure what'll be in here, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, One-Shots, Possible Preston/SoSu/Deacon OT3, Romance, Spoilers for everything everywhere, Tags may be added as needed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-09
Updated: 2016-02-08
Packaged: 2018-05-19 06:18:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5956798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laurelgand/pseuds/Laurelgand
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of one-shots set post-game in the same universe as 'Keep Your Secrets'. Centered around Preston and Deacon (possible OT3 stuff later, and rating subject to change)</p>
<p>Spoilers ahead!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Partners

     Preston’s face twisted, his nose wrinkling up, as rain started to fall against his duster. The hat on his head was already starting to get wet, the leather feeling heavier, “Man,” he mumbled, “I _hate_ the rain,” as much as Preston might have liked to avoid the rain, he wasn’t going to let a little water stop him from helping Sol. If she needed it, anyway. She’d come a long way since their first meeting in Concord, and he thought the man behind him might have had something to do with that.

     Deacon rolled his eyes, “S’not like you _had_ to come along, I could have handled this,” he hid his irritation well. Having someone other than Sol watch his back left him uneasy. As much as _she_ may have trusted Preston, he wasn’t as willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. He wouldn’t betray him, obviously, but he knew next to nothing about the Minuteman and that didn’t sit well with him. Deacon liked to have all the information, or at least enough to keep himself the best informed person in the room. He trusted Preston about as far as he could throw him.

     And, as his eyes roved over the man from behind, he wagered it wasn’t far. Preston was tall, broad-shouldered, and cut an impressive silhouette in the foggy swampland. His duster suited him, and he understood why the Minutemen in the Castle ( _all of them_ , from what he’d gathered) were infatuated with him. Preston stopped suddenly, sighing softly. He almost crashed into his back, lost in his thoughts.

     “You probably could have,” he turned to face Deacon, laser musket balanced in his palms, “but I don’t think Sol would have wanted either of us going in here alone,” though he couldn’t ignore the question that nagged at him, growing louder with each step they took into the mire. Why would she come in here alone? It was more than dangerous, it was like walking into a pit of vipers. Sol was guaranteed to run into trouble. Preston didn’t understand why, but that wasn’t going to stop him from going after her, “this fog is _ridiculous_.”

     “You can say that again,” it was like a thick, white sheet of smoke had descended around them. He couldn’t see more than a few feet in front of them, and it wouldn’t be smart to stumble blindly through the mirelurk infested waters. Even Deacon’s scope did little to cut through the fog, leaving him with a blurry, washed out image of the landscape, “we need higher ground or something. We’ll never find her at this rate.”

      Preston tilted his hat back and scratched his head, thinking. Higher ground, huh? His eyes searched the area, looking for any place that might have given them an advantage. There were low hills with pools of greenish, stagnant water between them and thick, sticky mud around the edges. As far as he could see there was no higher ground. Not unless his traveling partner was willing to shimmy up a tree–he snapped his fingers, “Oh! I’ve got it. We need higher ground, right?”

     Deacon stared at Preston warily with shielded eyes, “Yeah, and?”

     Preston grinned, looking rather proud of himself, “How do you feel about climbing trees?” one brow raised above the frame of Deacon’s glasses, and he laid a hand on his hip, “unless you have any better ideas?” he offered him a reassuring smile and Deacon’s lips twisted.

     Climbing trees? Oh, oh, _no_. _Nope_. He was _not_ dragging his ass up some unstable, dead tree. It would _snap_ , and he would go plummeting down. It wasn’t that he was _afraid_ of falling, he told himself as he spotted the only tree in the area, he was more afraid of the sudden and painful stop that came _after_ falling. _Honest_. He turned his face back toward Preston, “Do I have to?”

     Preston laughed, the sound _far_ too comforting for Deacon’s liking, and he also understood why Sol never shut up about her second-in-command when he asked. Which wasn’t often because of the aforementioned reason. The Minutemen did good work, to an extent, but they had their faults and he couldn’t put his faith in them the way she did. He’d seen them rise, and fall, once before already. What was to stop them from doing it again? A little voice, one he promptly squashed, said _Sol_.

     “I’ll help you up, and I won’t let you fall,” Preston laid a hand over his heart, chin raised, “I promise.” Deacon frowned and threw him a skeptical look. They’d only been traveling together for half the day, Deacon having showed up at the Castle in a huff only this morning, but Preston had already realized he didn’t trust him. It bothered him more than he expected it to. He was used to people trusting him on principle. There were few people who actually wanted to help people, and his uniform marked him as one of them. His uniform was also the reason he was mistrusted by certain people though. Deacon was included in the latter, he supposed.

     “Oh, yeah, you _promise_. That’s comforting,” his eyes wandered back to the tree, his face contorting, “the _things_ we do for this woman,” he mumbled more to himself than to Preston, but he was startled when the other man started laughing again. He raised a questioning brow and Preston snorted, raising a brow of his own.

     “What, you think you’re the only one that cares about her? I’ll have to show you what she wanted done with the Mirelurk Queen,” he shook his head, remembering having to clear out the massive shell of meat before they could move the enormous corpse, “walls made out of the shards is pretty clever, even if it’s messy to do,”

     Deacon considered his words, and then sighed in defeat, “Fine, _fine_. I’ll climb the damn tree,” he drug a palm down his face, “if I die, tell her I looked cool before I fell and snapped my neck,” Deacon lamented, walking toward the dried out husk that constituted a tree nowadays. Preston followed behind him, and he felt his heart rise in his throat when he saw how _tall_ the tree was, “Why can’t you go up?” he rolled his shoulders, muscles suddenly tense.

     Preston shifted a little, “You’re, uh, smaller,” he smiled, “and you’re pretty agile! I’ve seen you and Sol scale some debris I’d _definitely_ have trouble getting through,” although, he could probably lift a lot more of it than they could, “you don’t have to go up far, just enough to see over the fog. I’ll be right here,”

     Deacon clenched his jaw and took a hissing breath inward, “Alright then,” he was haunting Preston if this went sideways. _Haunting_. He laid a shaky hand on one of the lowest branches, and then gripped it tightly, flinching, when Preston’s hands landed on his sides. Right, help. Why did help always have to involve _touching_? He forced a laugh, “What, makin’ a move, Garvey?”

     Preston blinked owlishly, innocently, for a moment. Then he started laughing, “Sol said you were a comedian, I guess she was right,” he looked up at the tree, glad the rain had tapered off, “on three, I’ll lift you and you start climbing,” Deacon nodded, swallowing thickly, “one,” he couldn’t believe he was going up this _stupid_ tree, “two,” he took in a sharp breath, “three!”

     Deacon was climbing the tree, _not_ looking down as he did, “This was a terrible idea! You should feel bad!”

     “You’re doing great!” watching Deacon climb was a little nerve-wracking, even for him, and he kept throwing encouragement at him, “don’t look down, you just need to get up a few more branches!”

     “Don’t look down he tells me, as if I _would_ ,” maybe if he kept talking, he wouldn’t throw up. He was up high enough to see over the fog and what he saw was enough to, somewhat, ease the knot of panic at base of his spine. Off in the distance, he could see a few old, downed vertibirds. They were probably pre-war, half sunk in the water and rusted. That wasn’t what interested him, _no_ , what interested him was the small party of Railroad agents fighting off mirelurks. And _Sol_ was in that group, on top of one of those old vertibirds, taking shots at the crabs.

     “Do you see anything?” Preston called up to him, anxiety in his voice. His leg was shaking as he waited, and though he tried to stop it, the shaking would start up again as he thought of what Deacon could be seeing up in the tree.

     “I see her!” there was an instant flood of relief in the air, “she’s not far!” he was coming down from the tree. Like _, right now_.

     “Jump!”

     He laughed, almost hysterically, his voice cracking, “What? No!”

     “I’ll catch you!”

     “Dear God, this isn’t a _movie_ ,”

     The climb down involved more than a little yelling, frustration, and a shoe falling on Preston’s head. Deacon made it down in one piece, very happy to have his feet on solid ground again. By the time they reached Sol’s location (the climb down had _also_ taken the greater part of half an hour), the fighting was long over.

     They found her, perched atop the vertibird still, grinning like she’d won something, “ _Well_ ,” she hummed, crossing her legs, “aren’t you two just a sight for sore eyes,”

_Smug little—_


	2. Long Shot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sol decides the two most important people in her life (obviously) need to be friends.

     Sol drops Deacon off at the Castle for some quality bonding time with Preston (the two most important people in her life, obviously, need to be friends).

     “I have to take care of some business nearby,” Sol stepped over a pile of still-smoldering ash, eyes falling on Preston in the courtyard of the Castle, “you’ll be staying here for a few hours, maybe for the night,” Deacon hadn’t been pleased when she’d told him where they were going. The Castle still held unresolved issues for them, but now wasn’t the time to discuss those.

     “What kind of business?” he was trailing behind her, hands shoved in his pockets, and Reba hanging off his shoulder. The gun had been extremely useful since they’d picked it up in Salem all those weeks ago. Finding .50 caliber rounds for it could be a hassle though and he used the weapon sparingly, “any specific reason you’re leaving me behind?” he prodded, poking at her for answer.

     “ _My_ business, Deacon,” she tossed back, keeping her voice even, “maybe I just think you need a break,” he cocked a curious brow at her and she rolled her eyes, “can’t you just take my word for it and not argue for once?”

     “Sorry, boss, ain’t in my nature not to ask questions,” it was what had kept him alive all these years. If he had a little more information than the other side, it could make all the difference in the world. While he doubted this was one of those situations, he didn’t like being left out of the loop. If she was doing something she didn’t want him to know about, _he wanted to know_. He would find out one way or another anyway.

     “I’m aware of that,” he never stopped asking questions, but he did in a way that seemed less like an interrogation and more like he was gently peeling the truth away from her lies, “look, it’s nothing to worry about. I just don’t see point in dragging you all the way out there for, possibly, nothing.”

     He pursed his lips a little, eyes narrowing beneath his glasses, “Seems a lot of trouble for nothing,” Sol groaned, exasperated, and was more than a little grateful when Preston spotted them and started to make his way toward the Castle’s main entrance. Deacon’s eyes flicked toward Preston as he approached and Deacon closed the distanced between them, “oh, look, _friends_ ,”

     “General,” Preston nodded at Sol, the butt of his gun resting on the ground. His eyes drifted toward him lingering behind, “Deacon, good to see you too,” he offered him a blinding smile and Deacon waved back lazily, fingers curling indelicately, “we weren’t expecting you for a few more hours. Early start?”

     Sol shrugged and Deacon snorted, answering for her, “More like a late start. She,” he gestured toward her with a wave of his hand, palm facing toward her, “likes to travel at night. We’ve been walking since, what, three?” there were few ways to tell time, even fewer without the sun, and that made it difficult to keep track of how long they’d traveled and slept.

     “Two, actually, but we took that breakfast break at five, remember?” Deacon nodded. He could still taste the radstag jerky, although that was probably because there was a piece stuck in his teeth he couldn’t get out for the _life_ of him, “I’m leaving Deacon here until I get back. Think you can handle him?” there was an implication in her voice he didn’t like, like _he_ was the handful between them. He snorted again but they paid little attention to him.

     Preston laughed, a low rumbling sound from deep in his chest. It _rolled_ out of him, like rhythmic ocean waves, “Don’t worry, General, I won’t let anything happen to him,” he laid a ball-up fist on his hip and straightened his back, “you can count on me.”

     “I always can, Pres. I should be back by morning,” a small, knowing smile pulled at her lips, “but don’t come running after me if I’m not. Wait a few more days before that,” she winked, and both men looked away in opposite directions. Sol laughed, “try not to blow anything up while I’m gone.”

     “No promises, Boss,” Deacon quipped as she turned on her heel. She shook her head, snorting, and descended down the pile of stone and chitin again. He and Preston watched her form grow smaller and smaller on the horizon of ruins until they couldn’t see her anymore. She had vanished into a tiny, half blown-out building and they didn’t see her come back out.

     Deacon reached into his back pocket for a pack of cigarettes, watching Preston from the corners of his eyes, “ _Morning_ , she says,” Preston began, a fondness in his tone, “she’ll be gone three days, just you watch,” there was a cigarette between Deacon’s lips now, and one of Preston’s gloved hands tightened around his musket. He raised a brow and offered the pack, but Preston shook his head, “only to calm down, I hate the smell.”

     Deacon shrugged, tucking the pack back in his pocket. He flicked his lighter and breathed in, lighting the cigarette, “But you still smoke,” it was funny, to him, how often people did things they hated. Hell, _he_ did things he hated, so it was even funnier, he supposed, “So, Freedom Boy, what do you Minutemen do for fun?”

     Preston’s brows furrowed some at the name, “That’s Freedom _Man_ , Deacon,” he corrected, the right corner of his lips twitching upward. There was something a little mischievous and a little playful in Preston’s eyes and Deacon couldn’t help the grin that pulled at his lips. _Damn_ , if his smile wasn’t infectious, “you ever shot one of these before?” he hefted up the heavy laser musket.

     “Sol’s got one, somewhere,” smoked twisted and floated around them, “shot it once when we were pinned down and it was all she had that we had ammo for,” it hadn’t been a pleasant experience, to say the least. As used to firing rifles as he was, there was just something different about shooting an energy weapon. When he pulled the trigger, the weapon had tried to pull away from him. It wanted to follow the burst of red, angry light and he’d had to hold on tightly to keep the gun from flying right out of his hands, “Why?”

     Preston squared his shoulders, lifting his chin a little, “Just trust me, and c’mon,” Deacon shifted his weight from one leg to the other, hesitation in his stance. They’d traveled together before, he trusted Preston enough to know he wouldn’t put him in any danger, but he had to wonder what constituted as _fun_ for the people here. Fun for him was hiding in a corner, pretending he was drunk to avoid people, and reading through whatever book he or Sol had managed to salvage (he was reading something by Shakespeare at the moment, funny guy. Fond of dick jokes.)

     “I’m comin’, I’m comin’,” he dropped his cigarette onto the crumbled stone and crushed the butt beneath his heel, “you gonna tell me where we’re goin’ at least?”

     “Where would the fun be in spoiling the surprise?” they passed several patrolling Minutemen that stared at them curiously, whispering once they were ahead of the gossips. Deacon wrinkled his nose, he tried to avoid being noticed if he could. Though he suspected their interest had less to do with _his_ presence and more to do with whose presence he was _in_.

     “I _don’t like_ surprises,” he mumbled, hands shoved back in his pockets as he trailed after Preston. It wasn’t as though he had anything else to do or anywhere else to be. He could go back to HQ, but he thought Sol might be upset if she came back and he wasn’t there. Besides, it wasn’t as though the company were _that_ bad, Preston was someone (fairly) new and that left him still trying to figure him out.

     “You’ll like this one,” he paused at the stop of the stairs, offering Deacon a hand up, “watch your step, the stairs can be a little wobbly.” They needed to fix them, Preston reminded himself, the next time they had enough steel at the Castle for it. It was in pretty good condition for as old as it was, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t in need of some _serious_ work. He’d done what he could in his spare time, patching up holes and reinforcing structures barely holding onto the walls.

     Deacon paused, looking at Preston’s hand like it might reach out and grab him for a moment, but ended up taking it. The steps _were_ unsteady and he was more unnerved by the gentle swaying and creaking beneath him than by Preston’s hand. He was pulled up the last few steps (Preston was as strong as he looked) and he had to blink several times to see clearly once up on the wall. Even with his sunglasses, the sun was bright and harsh. Maybe he was just used to the dark.

     Preston grinned and pointed out over the water, toward a tiny strip of land between a few sunken boats, “See that little jetty there?” from this distance, Preston could see the shiny, yellowed orbs jutting out from the slick, heavy mounds scattered across the bit of land, “mirelurks nest out on it and we can’t get out there safely to clear them,” it was too dangerous to swim out to empty the nests. There were other ways though.There was the slightest tilt down of Deacon’s head, shielded eyes landing on his musket.

     “ _Mister Garvey_ ,” he said slowly, lowly, and there was mischief edging into his tone, “are you challenging me to a shoot-off? Because, honestly,” he stood a little taller, a smirk curling at his lips, “you’re going to get your ass kicked,” if there was one thing Deacon knew, _intimately_ , it was shooting. Oh, Garvey was going _down_.

     “Is that so?” Preston was grinning, he could feel it almost starting to hurt his face, but Deacon kept him smiling, “why don’t you take the first shot then?” the musket was heavy in his hands but he had long since become used to the weight. Sometimes, he barely registered it and he felt strange when he wasn’t carrying it. It was like his arms were too light, and he didn’t have anything to tap his fingers on when he got anxious, “just crank it and—”

     Deacon waved his hand a little, “I’ve got it, Pres—Garvey,” he corrected himself, palms flipped upward to take the musket. He felt heat spreading down his neck and he could only hope his face wasn’t turning red too. The slip-up had been an accident, he had been listening to Sol talk about Preston for weeks. He blamed Sol. That was a good choice, right?

     Preston gave handed the gun over and smiled when Deacon held it up with no trouble. Deacon lifted the musket and peered through the scope, “How’s the balance? I can get you another,” he rolled his shoulders and stretched out his arms, trying to work out the ache that had settled in his arms. The musket was heavy and even he got tired of carrying it after a while.

     “It’s fine. The scope’s nice. Did you modify it yourself?” Preston nodded, “well, aren’t you _handy_?” he laughed, taking a few steps further out onto the wall.

     “I just like to have something to do with my hands,” Sturges had shown him a few things he hadn’t known, and he liked to keep his weapon well-maintained. The last thing he needed was the crank sticking right when he needed it the most. _Again_. He took in a deep breath and pushed it out over the ocean, “keeps my mind off things, you know?”

     Deacon lowered the musket a little, his lips set in a hard line, “Yeah, I know,” there was a silence between them. It wasn’t quite uncomfortable, but there was something _heavy_ there, “so, Cowboy,” Preston snorted beside him and his lips curled up, “what’re the rules?”

     “So I mentioned the nests, right?” he nodded, “if you look, some are farther out than others,” Deacon looked back through the scope, as though trying to confirm his words, “the gist is this: the farther away the egg is, the more points it’s worth. Destroying more than one egg with one shot is worth bonus points.”

     “Let’s make this interesting,” Preston paused in the loosening of his scarf, “fifty caps says I can shoot farther than you.”

     “Oh, you’re _on_ ,” he grinned and then gestured to the jetty, “after you,”

     They shot until the sun started to set and nearly all of the nests on the jetty had been cleared. Deacon pulled the trigger on the musket again, vaporizing yet another egg and the farthest he’d shot yet, “Want to call it a day, Garvey?” it had nothing to do with the fact that he was winning, _no_ , it was just that they were losing light and the scope didn’t have night vision. Preston was something of an open book and he found him easy to like, _too_ easy if he wasn’t careful.

     Preston shook his head, his hat slightly askew on his head, “I think there’s enough light for _one_ more shot,” he handed back the musket, their fingers brushing as his fingers curled around the stock. Preston swallowed thickly, laughed a little, and shifted his weight back and forth, “regardless, we should grab something to eat after this. We’ve been up here a while!” As he spoke, he knelt down and took aim.

     A handful of steps away was Deacon, his arms crossed, looking out over the water, “Take your shot, Garvey,” he laughed and laid his hands on his hips, “let me guess, the only thing to eat around here is mirelurk,” not that he didn’t like mirelurk. It just got tiring after a while and it was one of the most abundant meats in the Commonwealth. Right behind radstag and Brahmin meat, anyway.

     Preston had cranked the musket twice and spotted a small cluster of eggs in the same vicinity as Deacon’s last shot, “I’m sure we can find something you’ll like,” he closed one eye, held his breath, and pulled the trigger. The recoil wasn’t as bad as it once was, he’d since made enough tweaks to reduce it, but was still there. The eggs exploded in a mess of thick fluid and shattered shells.

     “… I still shot farther,” even if he hadn’t won, it had been an enlightening experience. The sun dipped below the horizon, coloring the sky with dark violets and pastel pinks, “but hey, you cook, and I’ll forgive your debt, yeah?” he offered him a hand up as Preston started to stand, a hand on his knee. He looked up at him, looked up his hand, and then back up as he grabbed it.

     Preston laughed, “I’ve already been cooking for most of the day. There’s a pot of stew that’s probably _just_ about done. It’s been well, _stewing_ , for hours.” Deacon snorted and tugged on Preston’s hand. When he was on his feet, he started to dust himself off, and Deacon couldn’t stop himself from straightening his hat. Preston touched his hat thoughtfully, “ _oh_ —uh, thanks,”

     “Yeah, no problem,” he said quickly. Ah, _yes_ , awkward silences. He _loved_ those. Deacon cleared his throat and rolled his shoulders, “you said something about stew, right? Why don’t you show me where that is, Cowboy,”

     Preston gestured toward a set of stairs that descended into the fort from the wall. The edges of his eyes crinkled as he smiled, “Down there, and then down the hall. I’ll show you where you’ll be sleeping too,” he was sure Sol wouldn’t mind him putting Deacon in the General’s quarters. He stopped suddenly, frowning a little. They’d been up here for hours, and he’d neglected his patrols. He hadn’t checked on the infirmary in hours (small thing that it was).

     Deacon passed by him, “You ever relax, Garvey?” despite the game they’d been playing, neither of them had really been thinking about it. It was obvious by the distant look that would sometimes pass through Preston’s eyes, or the one of furious thought, “I hear stress is bad for your health,” like _he_ was one to talk though.

     “Only when I don’t have things to do,” which, if he was being honest, was never. For once though, he was trying to do so. Besides, he could bring stew to everyone in the infirmary now, once he was done eating with Deacon, “after you,” he hummed with a smile, “I’m right behind you.”

     Deacon looked over his shoulder at him, “Anyone ever tell you that you’re a little too nice?” he was, genuinely, a good person. From what he’d gathered from their conversations (which was a lot, considering how easy he was to read), he wanted to help people. Maybe the bar was a little high, but he could appreciate a good thing when he saw it.

     “There’s no such thing as too nice, if you ask me,” he sighed softly, “it’s not my place to judge, not really.” There were some things even he couldn’t forgive, but they were few and far between. Preston shrugged, “There’s not enough of it in the world.”

     His mouth clamped shut. _Well_. He sure knew how to pick ‘em, didn’t he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is really what I wrote for Preston Garvey Week on tumblr, and I really like it even if it's pre-relationship. I'll definitely be writing more of them when I find time between classes, my list of unfilled prompts, and my other fics. But I'm one to neglect other things when the mood strikes me, so I never know!
> 
> Anywaaaay, I love this pairing a lot and get feelsy over things I haven't written yet. Sol makes a brief appearance! If anyone has any suggestions or things they'd like to see, let me know! I'd love to know what you guys are thinking! Comments are always, always welcome c: hope everyone's week is going good! (I've been super sore because it's been cold but I'm better now!)

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys!! So I wrote this from a prompt I got on tumblr and I ended up shipping Preston x Deacon really hard?? Anyway! I wrote a couple of things for Preston Garvey Week (reasons why Keep Your Secrets didn't update this week! My Cowboy Husband needed a lil bit o' love). 
> 
> I'm still working on Preston's voice (and Deacon's tbh. From his pov anyway!) So bear with me with me c: This is the same universe as Sol's and my other fic, but it's all post game! I'll toss my fics and one-shots for Pres and Deacon here as I write them. I hope you like them!


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